


Beginning

by bluehair



Series: The winds of time through my hair [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anal Sex, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Tickling, Orgy, Polyamory, Slash, Snarky Elves, Voyeurism, because one quest is never enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehair/pseuds/bluehair
Summary: Even after he left Middle Earth, supposedly for good, Mithrandir still creates trouble for peace-loving elves. And elves say they look for peace, but can't stay put. And the Valar seem crazier than the wizard. And sparks start flying, when a Feanorion gets a chance of redemption.





	1. REVELATIONS

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, just playing with them, without making a cent.
> 
> Since my other fic was so well received (squeals and jumps around, scaring virtual cats), but it has to burn slower, I decided to post this one too. Now, this will be the closest I can ever get to a short fic - I just can't seem to get at the real goodies without some preamble. But be aware, you do need some cold drinks, or you'll be scorched!
> 
> And I need to sit down, because posting 3 chapters in one go made my knees weak. Shudders.
> 
> Also, since English is not my first language and I didn't have the time to read this over and over during at least two weeks, you might find squeaky things inside. Sorry, unbetaed.

Thranduil was really in a bad mood and he was trying to remember if ever one of Mithrandir's visits had brought peace and quiet. He was clearly failing at that. He sighed and decided that it was enough; he had paid his dues in full and now he was leaving Middle Earth, no matter what folly the wizard was concocting. And the Valars with him, because seriously, allowing the Istar to come back to Middle Earth again was quite much.

And organizing a meeting, in Eryn Galen, without asking his permission? He was not Elrond! He was happy to see Legolas earlier, but not even telling him who all the other guests were was just…

“Ada, please, there is no need to breathe fire. I'm sure there is a good reason for this.”

“You are a bit too gullible, still, my son. The only reason Mithrandir would have for not telling me something would be if he knew I would oppose it and would be able to stop it.”

“And do you actually think there's a way to make him tell us something before he's well and ready to do it?”

Thranduil laughed at that. 

“About as much as me growing a beard, I imagine.”

Legolas' laugh was soothing, and Thranduil sighed and decided to just let things be. He would just say no to anything the Istar wanted, and would take Legolas with him to Valinor, no matter what.

Just then, Galion approached, announcing the first guests had arrived: Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel, from Imladris. That did not sound too bad.

“Legolas, would you care to welcome them? I still have to check some things with Feren and Galion, about our departure.”

“Sure Ada, I would love to exchange news with them anyway.”

That settled, Thranduil saw to the rest of his day, happy that the damn wizard had decided to stay put and didn't get in his way.

The next day saw the arrival of Celeborn, accompanied by only two guards. Legolas was very happy to take care of Haldir, and Celeborn was happy to spend some time with his nephews. Mithrandir was still making himself scarce, so Thranduil continued with the preparations, wondering who else was still in Middle Earth and hoping with all his might that the persons they were still waiting for were not some Naugrims, because that would really be way too much right now.

At the end of the week, a hurried Mithrandir said they just had to have the discussion, and the last person would join them when he joined them.

* 

Thranduil was seriously wondering if there was enough wine in Middle Earth to drown his thoughts. He had agreed to go on the most harebrained quest in 10,000 yeas of history – that is, go another 10,000 years forward in time, because … well, maybe because this was a drunken dream? One in which he had allowed Legolas to take him in one of his crazy wanderings? Valar, together with Maglor Feanorion, of all people? And Eonwe himself, coming to convince them to do it? Seriously, a band of Naugrim would have sounded more believable. 

“Ada?”

“Yes Legolas, have you come to check if my madness is contagious?”

Legolas laughs out loud at this. Surely it's a drunken dream.

“Galion wants a word”, he says. “And Feren, and Meludir”.

Of course Galion and Feren want a word. But Meludir? This gets stranger by the minute.

“Let them in”, he sighs. 

And it seems their party gets larger, because he can't refuse Galion's and Meludir's requests to accompany them. Again, he understands – sort of – Galion, but Meludir? And how the hell did Meludir find out about their trip? 

“Here, Ada, you look like you need it”, Legolas says, giving him a cup full to the brim with Dorwinion. And a second, after the drains the first.

“Haldir will come with us too”, Legolas adds. “And Mithrandir is adamant that we have to leave at midnight tomorrow”.

“Of course he is. And surely Galion has the preparations well in hand, doesn't he?”

“Yes Ada. Unless you want to have something really special with you.”

“I'll have you and my swords”, the king says. “All else doesn't matter”.

“Thank you”, the prince says, and he hugs his surprised father. “I am really glad I'll have you at my side in this”.

* 

And to spite Mithrandir just a little bit, they are all ready to leave well before midnight – each wearing the simple and resistant forest patrol clothes and the light elven cloak, one change and one robe each, another pair of light boots, their weapons (whatever good they will do them in the new world), lembas, the bag of gold coins, because Maglor showed them he can do simple jewelry from them with just a small chisel and hammer (what kind of world makes their coins from other metals than gold or silver, but still pays for gold jewelry?) and all his beautiful rings, because each of them wears 16 of them on their hands. Including a huffing Mithrandir, because he can hold his staff well enough, even with them on.

And a ton of golden hair clasps, because they had to braid their hair anyway, right? They are, after all, the only ones who will do this in the history of Arda; they should be well dressed for it, even if he understands the lack of fancy, embroidered clothes.

* 

The trip is disorienting, to say the least, and the new world is totally incomprehensible, at first. He is – they all are - grudgingly grateful that Mithrandir stays with them for three months, so they can get started, find a place to live and start learning intensively, and he actually doesn't like the Istar's need to leave.

But they had given their word, so now they are newly alone and have to start the meeting which will settle who is going to be the ruler. As if that was ever so easy.


	2. COCK FIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's the biggest of them all?

“Really, Maglor? You can only obey somebody who fucks his own son?” Thranduil snarls, but he does not allow Legolas to move, so his words are coming around the younger elf's stretched neck, and he can see Maglor is breathing hard. He knows how beautiful his son is and, in this moment, he must be breathtaking, on his toes, stretched over his father's body, his head on Thranduil's shoulder, his golden hair mixing with Thranduil's silver one, his hands gripping his father's arm for purchase, but not trying even for a second to dislodge the hand cruelly pulling at his hair. He is actually relaxed, Thranduil realizes, because he knows his father will support him, and of course, while Thranduil pulled at his hair with his left hand, the other one grabbed his hip, to do that.

Thranduil knows his face is the usual mask, but all the other elves in the room are not easy to fool, so he tries hard to maintain his breathing even and not let anything but anger show in his eyes.

Maglor does not say anything, so Thranduil decides to up the stakes.

“So, if I do this,” he says, and nips at Legolas' beautiful white throat, making him gasp in surprise, “my words will have more value than if I give a logical explanation for that course of action? Or do I need to do this,” he says, his right hand leaving his son's hip and going straight to his nipple, pinching it through the t-shirt.

Both elves breathe deep at that, and Thranduil realizes something else: Maglor wants to be in Legolas' place much more than he wants to be the one dominating. Isn't that interesting? He releases Legolas and whispers something in his ear, and allows himself to be brought to the floor by his son, who then makes a show out of biting his father's lips, then, in the thick silence, asks Maglor, in his coyest voice:

“Or do you think it should only work the other way around?”

“Finish it, you two,” Celeborn says. “That's neither here nor there.”

“Isn't it?” Thranduil purrs, not bothering to get up from the floor. “Then, why isn't our nightingale here able to say a word?”

Indeed, Maglor is still breathing hard and his cheeks are crimson at the moment, his fists clenching by his sides, almost looking for a sword hilt.

“Legolas, how could you keep such a secret?” Elladan asks, mock angry.

“I...what secret?” the blonde asks, bewildered.

“The one making Thranduil so much better than us,” Maglor grits.

“Oh, found your voice, little nightingale?” Thranduil smirks.

“I never took well to blatant lies,” Maglor growls back. “At least we never hid our love!”

“We never hid either,” Thranduil answers, glacially. “I love my son, but not that way.”

“You could have fooled me! Do you really expect me to believe that this is just an act? This?” Maglor yells.

“One of the first lessons Legolas learned is that ruling is acting,” Thranduil says. “I taught him how important it is, on many occasions, to show the people what they want to see, in order for them to do what's needed. And, of course, that is doubly valid in a power game with an enemy.”

“So is this the first truth you say tonight, Thranduil? That you and I are enemies?”

“Did you ever think that someone who saw Doriath fall can just be your friend and let you lead them?” he growls.

Maglor sighs at this and closes his eyes, shaking. He breathes deep and now his voice is broken.

“So this is what you want of me, in order to be forgiven? To be your slave?”

“When did I say I needed a slave, Maglor? Not being my master does not make any of the people here my slave. Not even my servants were ever slaves. Where did you get these ideas?”

“You mean to tell me that, when you know somebody's weakness, that person is not a slave to you?” Maglor says, bitterly. “After what you just said and did, who would believe that you would not use that as a tool anytime you want something?”

Thranduil has no idea how to answer that, and he feels keenly aware that he should not have allowed himself to be goaded that much in front of the others.

“So, we have two out of the race for high king,” Glorfindel's voice was heard. “Shall we just consider my lord Celeborn the leader and leave all this be?”

“And why not yourself, Glorfindel?” Maglor asked. “After all, you are the only one here who has the certitude the Valar like you.”

My, how Maglor spit that word!

“I never wanted to be the highest lord,” Glorfindel answers. “I'm good in battle, but not always that great in rest,” he says.

“Maybe, in this young world, we should have a younger leader,” Celeborn says. “We might just be too set in our ways.”

“Having Legolas as a leader would be having Thranduil at the reins,” Maglor says. “He does anything his Ada asks for. And I am not so sure your nephews would refuse your wish,” he says, turning to Celeborn. “So it's you or the golden one, that is… I bow to your highness, white lord.”

“I don't think this address is appropriate here,” Celeborn sighs. “We all are lords and I don't see anything else to rule. Maybe we should just take a page out of the humans' book and consider this function an elected one.”

Both Maglor and Thranduil laugh now, and both look at each other, shocked to have had the same reaction.

“Is it so strange to just agree on a chain of command, because it makes things simpler, while understanding that each of the warriors is extraordinary?” Glorfindel asks, quietly. “After all, the youngest of us did live for 3000 years, did battle, won wars and led a kingdom, at one time or the other. We are in a strange world, but any of us has more experience than the world's inhabitants, and is used to more responsibilities.”

He sees on each face that none of them can refute his words, even if they would want to.

“But yes, Elrohir says, we might want to dispel the sexual tension a bit.”

Of course, Elladan and Legolas laugh at this, and Celeborn rolls his eyes.

“Do you speak for your lord?” Maglor growls.

“I'm sure Elladan agrees,” Elrohir answers. “Among those here, he was the only one who was my lord for a while. And I don't see why we should be restraining ourselves here, as long as we are not taking someone unwilling.”

“Also, we could call you granpa too,” Elladan says. “You did, after all, take care of our father when he was a child.”

“And you did a good job of that, whatever the reason for it was,” Elrohir adds, and Maglor just can't breathe, because that's another old pain just brought in the open.

“We are all connected by too many things here,” Glorfindel agrees. “We know we won't find real partners too easily in the outside world, be it simply because we can't actually be honest with them. And we all know that undying love might just not be an issue, due to our histories. So, we could just decide to help each other that way. It always worked for soldiers.”

“Just like that, we have an orgy?” Maglor asks. “And who would be on the bottom?”

“Whoever feels like it that night,” Thranduil purrs, and he stretches, knowing how his body looks in the thin t-shirt and tight jeans. “It's not like any one of us hasn't experimented with it, am I wrong?”

He sees them nodding, smiling. Of course, except Maglor, who is still tensed.

“Do you offer yourself to be taken, then, o, forest king?”

“By anyone except my son,” Thranduil says. “And by you, only after we negotiate clearly in advance.”

“So you still don't trust me.”

“No, I just trust none of the others has a wish to hurt me right now,” Thranduil says. “And I know how Celeborn and Glorfindel play already.”

“We are feeling neglected here,” Elrohir quips. “We are too young and not dangerous enough, it seems.”

Thranduil laughs. 

“I never heard of you to be cruel in play,” he says. “Only maybe breaking hearts, but that's not an issue.”

“And would I be breaking something else?” Maglor asks, still angry.

“Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't enjoy seeing me bleed?” Thranduil counters.

Maglor shudders then and almost gags.

“I had enough blood in Angband,” he whispers. “And in battle. I don't play with it.”

“One more thing you have in common then,” Celeborn says, and Maglor is really bewildered now.

“Show him, Thranduil,” he says. “It's better we all know how we stand.”

Thranduil does not seem happy, but he nods and obeys, removing the glamour, and Maglor gasps when he sees the ruin of his face. 

“But maybe this will make you not want me,” Thranduil says calmly. “I would not be offended if that is so.”

Maglor seems to be speechless for a while, then he shakes himself like a wet dog.

“I'm sorry you had to do this. I saw such before,” he says. “I feel it still,” he says, removing the glamour showing the burn in his hand. “I ...will try not to be so defensive. But...why did you?”

“Why did I what?”

“Stay in Middle Earth, instead of going to Valinor. Or come here, when you could have been healed.”

“You get used to it, after the first thousand years,” Thranduil shrugs, and sets the glamour back in place. “I couldn't leave my wife alone then, in the beginning; then there was Legolas, after her death; and always, there were my people. Now, there was adventure. I think you of all people should understand that, although eternal happiness sounds good, some of us are more interested in a challenge.”

Maglor laughs bitterly. 

“Ada would have liked to try to tame you,” he says. “But I think tonight I will just watch. It… it is too long and too much for now.”

“I can stay away,” Legolas whispers to his father. “If…”

“No, my treasure. You should have as much fun as the rest of us. I'm sure there will be interesting things to do without having me.”

“Yeah, you can have me, Legolas,” Elrohir says, waggling his brows.

“And me,” Elladan says.

“Maybe I will,” Legolas laughs. “But, shouldn't we get something to eat first? I think we'll need the energy.”

“And maybe, before we do this, we should also discuss the rest of the hierarchy,” Glorfindel adds.

“You, Glorfindel, will be my second,” Celeborn says. “And, seeing how many we are, I think that's enough for now. We will make a clear list what each of us can do and is willing to, but I don't see the need for more.”

He looks around and sees they all agree, so they open the door and, sure enough, Galion had prepared a meal. 

They let the other three know about their choice of leadership, but then Legolas startles them.

“I would like to have Haldir too,” he says, and they realize that this can cause issues.

“We do take our royalty a bit too for granted, don't we?” Thranduil says. “We pick and choose, but we should be more equal here.”

“I...don't think we could make such decisions, my lord,” Meludir says and blushes.

“There are too many years since we spoke any other way,” Galion says. “Or since we took but every day decisions.”

Thranduil and Legolas both snort and laugh, because of course, Galion had subtly ordered them around for many centuries.

“Well, there could be the issue of what kind of bed we would need for this,” Celeborn smiles.

“And the fact that we should really think about guards too,” Glorfindel adds.

“My...well, we could just fill a room with mattresses,” Galion says, “if that was your meaning. And we can have a roster of guard duty, as we always did.”

“Well Thranduil, I think you bit more than you can chew,” Maglor can't resist to tease.

“I'm sure you'll enjoy the show then,” Thranduil smirks. “The truth is, it's been years since I didn't get to have a lot of fun. I'll make up for it now.”


	3. THE CAGED PANTHER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chilli chocolate, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Legolas mentions is Chaplin's "Modern times", the exact scenes I had in mind are https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_1apYo6-Ow and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPSK4zZtzLI

They busy themselves to arrange one of the rooms at the first floor, the one with just one large window and lots of space, and of course Galion is thoughtful enough to bring some wine and other drinks too. It's good to have people who were used to serve others around, Maglor muses, because Meludir brings a ton of towels and some pillows too, and Haldir has raided the pantry for oil. 

Maglor is setting himself near the chamber's door; it's true that this world is different and they shouldn't expect to be attacked, but being on guard has never hurt anyone, and, since he will be the most clear headed… That makes him snort to himself, because there are too many thoughts storming around his mind for that to be true.

“I would rather avoid your graces, my dears,” Celeborn tells the twins. “And if somebody else has anything or anyone they don't want to do, we should establish that now”. 

Maglor almost snorts again, because this is a very interesting first act of leadership.

“If our spectator can be silent for a bit,” Thranduil smirks, “I would say we should just do simple, enjoyable things tonight. Games would require us to be less on edge maybe?”

The others seem to agree to this, and nobody seems to have any other limit to mention, so he sees them start to undress. They do it very casually, which amazes him a bit, but it might make sense. There are 3 months since they are here, and of course he has no idea how long each of them was celibate before. There must be a pressure to just release, making them leave the subtleties for another day. But wouldn't that be a disappointment?, a little voice nags. 

He breathes deep and continues to watch them. There is no such thing as an ugly elf, but there are degrees of beauty; and he has seen some of the most beautiful beings on Arda, but it's true that some of those in the room might be considered their equals. It's something he never wanted to admit, that there can be others so finely made, but this is a completely new world, and he should try to be different, if this ordeal is to succeed.

Of course Glorfindel is shining bright; Maglor hates the Valar with a passion, but their golden boy was never on his shit list. They did a splendid job in bringing him back, so he's a feast for the eyes. They all are, because they are all so tall, so well built, with such elegant, slender bodies, flowing muscles and sinews, porcelain skin and flowing hair, which seems all have decided to unbraid. 

It's fascinating to watch, from the silver of Thranduil and Celeborn, through shades of liquid gold, through browns, to the ebony black of the twins, flowing like rivers over graceful backs, teasing rounded buttock, framing milky thighs.

Fast enough, they start grouping: the twins and Legolas and Haldir on the one side, Glorfindel alternatively kissing Thranduil and Celeborn, Galion arranging something near to them and Meludir just hovering, it seems not knowing what to do. If he's not mistaken, he is the youngest of the bunch – and the one with the least accomplishments. Maglor actually hasn't the slightest idea why he was brought with them, but nobody asked his opinion anyway. 

His gaze returns to the blond trio, and they do look otherworldly; his palms itch to play with their tresses, so beautifully starting to mingle now, since they had sandwiched Glorfindel in the middle and seem to reacquaint themselves with each other's bodies and mouths, kissing languidly, letting their hands roam, touching with the full lengths of their divine bodies. 

Maglor assumes they all knew each other at one moment or another, because they are too comfortable in their postures, they seem to know how to arrange themselves just right to accommodate each curve and protuberance properly. There's no hurry in their touches, not like it happens when you have in front somebody new, uncharted territory.

Before he starts wondering when and where their stories started, he eyes the younger ones, and the vibe is completely different; they seem no less comfortable, but there's a mischievousness in their interaction, they are playing with each other almost like kittens, so he wouldn't be surprised if he would soon see them rolling around and play-swatting at each other.

The twins are more solid – their Mannish ancestry is to blame for that – and Legolas seems positively frail between them, but of course that's deceptive. He looks again and he's sure the only frail one among them is Meludir, who's cheeks are crimson, watching enraptured how his master plays. And the said master doesn't seem to have any care in the world right now, Maglor observes, besides nipping at each muscle on Glorfindel's back and soothing each bite with his pink tongue. He seems to be working in tandem with Celeborn in this, because the white lord has a good grip on Glorfindel's waist and he kisses him deeply now, like he wants to eat any sound the golden one makes.

He realizes that he'd love to hear those sounds himself, because it's not possible that such a treatment would not engender them, he thinks. His own breath tries to shorten when Thranduil's mouth approaches the buttocks, and he wonders if the proud Sindar will really go all the way. But this question remains unanswered, because Glorfindel growls and pushes at Celeborn's shoulders, and he obliges.

“No you won't Thranduil”, he says, gulping air. “You said you will be taking us, and I won't have you start with your cock up my ass, because I know your stamina”.

Thranduil smirks, of course he does, and answers coyly:

“I'm not wiggling out of it, my dear; just wanted a taste”.

Glorfindel growls again, and kisses him hungrily, biting lightly at his bottom lip when he pulls back.

“Your tongue is as wicked as your cock; later, I want you on my cock first”.

Thranduil purrs and grabs the said appendage, making Glorfindel growl again and allow his head to fall back, and his golden hair is a splendid weight of silk rippling over the bunching muscles. Galion comes with the oil bottle, and Thranduil nods and releases him, to arrange himself on his back, unashamedly opening his long legs wide.

Celeborn grabs Glorfindel's hand and takes the oil from Galion, and brings them on each side of Thranduil's hips. He turns his head and, of course, there is Galion again, with a pillow to put under Thranduil's hips, so they have better access. Then they oil their fingers and, again in tandem, start to rub around his ass crack, and then his pink hole.

Of course all of them arranged themselves so Maglor can have the best show, he realizes. What a pack of divas! And they said his family was bad! He really wants to keep being angry at them, but they look too good, oh, so gentle, one hand each caressing Thranduil's side, thigh, arm, a finger of the other starting to tease his entrance, alternatively pushing very lightly in, then withdrawing, letting the other one to tease just a fraction of an inch deeper. Thranduil just lays there, letting them do it, and something in Maglor tightens, because it's hard to be so relaxed, he feels. His gaze moves just a little, and he sees Meludir working on opening Galion, and there's resounding laughter from Legolas all of a sudden, and he sees all four others were arranged so as to have easy access to work on each other, their slow motions aborted now when Legolas is bent double and emits peals of laughter. 

“Don't tell me your asshole is that ticklish”, a miffed Elladan says, trying to understand what on Arda could have brought this about.

“It's just”, Legolas wheezes through fits of laughter, “like in that movie we seen, that comedy,” he gulps, “Oh Eru, give me a moment, please.” 

“Brother, you clearly lost your touch”, Elrohir quips, “if he can think about movies now”, but then he yelps, because it seems Haldir didn't appreciate the loss of touch and just nipped him on the thigh.

“If you start bantering now”, he says, “we'll all be cramping for the completely wrong reasons soon.”

Legolas laughs harder now, and clearly his abdomen is cramping, so Celeborn rolls his eyes and asks for quiet, giving him time to come to his senses.

“I'm sorry,” Legolas says, drying his tears, “it was just that movie where everything was automated, including how the funny man with the weird little mustache was eating, and we were all just doing the same actions on each other, and I just seen us on a sort of an assembly line”, and now he wheezes again in laughter, and the others remember it, and it could indeed be funny, to a point.

“Well,” Glorfindel says, “we will do our best to do things differently from now on, but it's not really safe to skip this step, I'm afraid. Especially since we agreed we would play nicely tonight”.

They all agree on this, including Legolas, but he's unable to stop seeing the funny aspect of the movie. Maglor knows the feeling – when you are not supposed to laugh, you laugh until you can't breathe, and then manage to gulp air and do it some more. But it seems to be distracting to the others, so Glorfindel mutters something having to do with crazy Mirkwood elves and gets up and goes to Legolas.

“Elladan, Elrohir, let's tickle him to give him something to laugh about”, he says and Legolas squeals and tries to escape, but they are three against one, and he can't. He starts flailing and keeps squealing, and Maglor's cock just loves the sound. And he's not the only one, because as fatherly as Thranduil tries to smile – and he's sure there's fatherly amusement there, too – the man's cock could punch through a wall, too. 

Looking back at the mock fight, he sees each of the twins have caught one of Legolas' legs and they tickle him mercilessly, and Glorfindel has co-opted Haldir, who keeps Legolas' hands pinned, so the golden one mercilessly tickles his flanks, until the young one cannot take it anymore and just lets himself go limp, trying his best to bear the sensations.

His face is a study in beauty though, all flushed, pink lips pouting, eyes glimmering with tears, breath ragged, trying his best to endure it. Maglor wonders how much cock can his mouth endure, and of course, then he wonders how will Thranduil look at that. Breathe, damn it, he thinks.

“Enough, princeling?”, Glorfindel asks, allowing him a respite.

“I...think so”.

“Can you young ones just keep his mouth busy now?”, he asks the others, making the twins smirk. “We were trying to have fun, you know”.

Before the twins can do anything though, Haldir takes advantage of his closer position and just brings his hard cock to the prince's lips, and that must be able to shut him, Maglor thinks, because he has rarely seen such a thick one. Legolas' mouth is stretched to the limit trying to accommodate just the head, so he has no choice but to be silent now, so a satisfied Glorfindel returns to the others and, after retaking his place, nips at Thranduil's chest, making the aloof looking elf yelp, surprised.

“I think the only reason you don't want that relationship with your son is because the two of you would kill each other fast”, he says, getting a snarl from Thranduil. “You can't deny both of you just love the attention,” he adds, then lowers his head to suck at a pink nipple, and probably to bite too, because whatever the Sinda wanted to say, it only comes out as a moan.

“Celeborn, I'll let you open him up for now, I think both of them need silencing”, he adds and then dedicates himself to licking and kissing and nipping at Thranduil's chest and neck and jaw, and hisses when the man's hand grabs his cock again and sets a teasing rhythm.

Maglor is sure he would want to say something more, but he probably knows the Sinda better, so he just applies himself to making him breathe hard and shallow.

Meanwhile, Celeborn is indeed working him up, using tons of oil and teasing his balls, letting a spell-bound Maglor see how one long finger breaches his pink hole, dipping in and out all the way, then two, then three, making his hips start lifting, pushing, the other hand keeping them in check now, and he wonders why does he keep at it, but then remembers Thranduil promised – no, bragged - to take everyone tonight. And Celeborn's warden's weapon is not to be taken lightly, so it's good thinking to make Thranduil take 4 fingers now, the well oiled hole sucking at them, trying to mold itself on them, the squelching sound maddeningly arousing.

There's another sound, Maglor realizes, the hungry kiss between Glorfindel and Thranduil, he can hear their teeth clacking against each other, and both are growling low in their chests, trying to devour each other, until they have to stop for lack of air.

“You are ready”, Celeborn says over their panting, and Glorfindel looks at him, and tries to say something, and Maglor knows he would like to growl at him to make way, but they are not rivals, so he should say it nicer, but there's no need, because Celeborn just signals him to take his place and gets up, looking around to see what the others do.

Glorfindel gets another pillow and raises Thranduil's ass higher in the air and then just pushes in, a slow, long thrust, ripping a terrifyingly carnal sound from Thranduil's throat. He pauses, and Maglor is sure it's more because he fears he will finish immediately than to allow Thranduil to get accustomed to his length. He's pretty sure that Thranduil understands it too, because he makes no movement when it's clear he has adjusted, just allowing the other his breath.

And then Glorfindel starts moving, and it's fucking beautiful to watch how his entire body moves like a wave, fucking him slow and deep and good, and Thranduil is surprisingly vocal, letting himself moan every time he gets in really deep, pushing himself to meet him, his face showing his great pleasure.

The illusion of his perfect face, Maglor thinks, and now his mind goes haywire, wondering how much time did Thranduil spend in front of the mirror, learning to get the glamour right for all kinds of moments. Did he actually have a cock up his ass, to be ready for the occasion? And the craziness of the question triggers another, and it is the first time he wonders why his brother didn't do it; of course it would have been pointless to try to cover the missing hand, but the scars on his face? It's not like Maedhros was ever less proud than Thranduil, he thinks with a chuckle. Nobody on Arda was prouder than a Feanorion, so, why?

He's jolted from his thoughts by Legolas' keening, and he can only look that way and see that Haldir has breached him, and that's no easy feat. His eyes are closed and his jaw is slack, and his knuckles are white where he holds onto Elladan, trying to breathe and painfully reminding Maglor of a young Celegorm, taken for the first time, all creamy skin and curtained in golden hair, his neck stretched taut, all his body telling him it's too much, but of course, he's too stubborn to listen.

No, he should be here, not so many millenia in the past; this is Legolas, not his brother who had the Light of the Trees in his eyes and hair and skin. And that is just a Silvan elf behind him, not the spirit of fire himself, no, these thoughts can only lead to madness!

He takes his eyes from him and decides he needs a drink, and he's amazed that Galion is already near him with a glass. 

“You are supposed to enjoy yourselves”, he tells him, “not serve me.”

The man smiles then. 

“I am”, he says, “and will enjoy a lot before the night's end, do not worry about me”.

Maglor shrugs then, and his eyes fall on Meludir, who is panting, untouched yet but seeming right at the edge. He can't be that inexperienced, can he? But again, what does he know about the young one's life? And maybe he's just a voyeur, and indeed the show in front of them is worth it.

He sips the wine, then sighs and gulps it, and gets a bottle near him. They just started, and he said he will not join, but his cock, of course, has a completely different idea. It likes the plump lips of the young elf, as much as he likes Glorfindel's ass and Celeborn's large hands, stroking his own cock in a tantalizingly slow rhythm, and, actually, it likes all body parts and bodies in the room. 

And the sounds start to be maddening too, soft moans, harsher gasps, flesh-on-flesh sounds; squelching and sucking, because the twins did take to heart the put-Legolas'-mouth-to-good-use idea, and the prince is stretched in between Elrohir and Haldir, claimed both ways, and his body is trying to arch in between them, the strain making the sinews look so beautifully taut it hurts him. And yes, these modern day pants are awful on his engorged cock. He could, of course, unzip them, and he could play with his cock; he only said he will not fuck the other ones, not that he with stay there like a statue, but it just doesn't feel right. 

But his hands are restless, and the sounds around are unruly, and there's an itch in him, and he realizes that, for sure, the others would not mind some music, so he goes to look for his harp, taking advantage of this to change into a robe, too. His cock is very grateful for it.

He returns and tries to decide what to play; no sad thing, of course, and no Noldor epic. Nothing of this new world, he decides, because they are not of it. Neither the haunting sea, because they are trapped here for who knows how long. But all of them would love the trees, and the waterfalls, and the birds, so he starts with that, mixing the sounds, trying to find a balance with the suddenly hurried sounds coming from the younger ones, because Elrohir spills himself in Legolas' mouth, and the blond one swallows and now keens his pleasure, because it's clear Haldir's thrusts have him all trembling like the leaves he's named after.

Elladan is not in a hurry and just sets himself so he can hold his head and pet his golden hair, kissing his heated brow, then whispering something in his ear, and that is the tipping point, because Legolas cries and comes, hauntingly beautiful.

Maglor's song changes without him realizing, his chords moaning too, whispering the longing of another fair haired beauty, then soaring again like a lark, and falling back on the ground on Meludir's moan, and he sees that Galion was returning the favor and opening him up while he was away. The youth is squirming so prettily that Haldir notices him, and this Haldir is something, Maglor muses, because he didn't come yet, although Legolas' spasms around him must have felt heavenly. And of course he wants more, so he comes to where Meludir is lying, looking at him just like one of those great cats they once saw, hunting their prey, and Meludir whimpers so beautifully that Maglor is compelled to multiply the sound on his harp, and then to add the grating gasps coming from Glorfindel, whose pace is amazingly fast, he sees.

Thranduil's knuckles are white where he keeps his own legs high in the air, allowing the golden one to go in impossibly deep, and his moans are scorching to Maglor's ears, and the harp now vibrates to the rhythm their hips snap against each other. He's light headed and feels himself entering a trance, where only the music counts; the music of Meludir's cry as Haldir breaches him slowly, of Celeborn whispering something in Thranduil's ear and then the later's cry when the white lord bites it, making him grip Glorfindel like a vise and explode together; Elladan's cry when Legolas has him on all fours and pounds him mercilessly; Galion fucking hard a thrashing Thranduil, not allowing him to come down from it, and the soft swish of Celeborn's hand through the later's hair; Meludir's keen cry and Haldir's grunt, when both let go; Legolas starting to plead incoherently, when he's breached again by Elrohir, sandwiched between the twins, like the sun between dark storms; a soft sound from Galion, coming and letting Celeborn reposition Thranduil on top of him, showing his strength by lowering him so slowly on his cock that Maglor's hand moves too abruptly and breaks a chord, grazing his finger in the process.

The small pain is nothing, really, but it again brings back a memory, and if Thranduil's hair would not be silver but copper, dear Gods, he would be just like Maedhros, Maedhros riding his dear Kano – any of them – taking so much pleasure from being filled and stretched and owned, and Maglor doesn't realize his mouth is singing, a song so old he didn't know he remembered it still, the song he wrote the first day both of them had Maedhros until he couldn't move by himself, so numb with pleasure that he could only smile and then…

He cries now and bites his fist not to yell and rave like a madman, because for a moment he wanted to beg Thranduil to change the glamour a bit and...No, no, fucking hell no! He's breaking to pieces, and it doesn't help, so he wants to flee, but there are strong hands around him, warm hands, and shushing in his ear, and he turns and buries his face in the warm, naked shoulder of Glorfindel and cries a river, until he can't anymore. He should leave, but he doesn't have the power.

“I'm sorry, please, help me get out, I'll let you...”

“Don't”, Glorfindel whispers. “Just don't. I'll be here for as long as you need it”.

He's so grateful for this it hurts, so he breathes deep and just loves the contact, the warm skin on his face, the strong hands anchoring him there; minute by minute, he becomes more real, more in this world and not the Kanafinwe who wandered for an age, singing until his voice could be mistaken for the cry of gulls. 

And of course, the others have heard him – damn elven hearing! - and he's afraid he interrupted their pleasure, until he hears Thranduil's hoarse voice – who else's?

“Celeborn, if you stop now, I'm going to strangle you! Move, damn it!”

And Maglor laughs, laughs until it hurts, until the phantasms in his mind quiet, because they are alive, and they are dead, and does it matter anymore?

“I'm fine,” he says, “don't stop on my account. I'll get more wine and enjoy it, the show is real good”.

He quietly thanks Glorfindel and urges him to return to the others, if only to keep the crazy Mirkwood elves quiet, and he's glad to see the golden one smiles and lets him be.

But he can't continue with the music, because he knows the trance is waiting from him there, and with it the dear dead ones. 

So he just watches, and indeed, Thranduil keeps his word and takes everyone, basking in the attention, enjoying the pleasure and the pain, because even his elven body must be tired when he leaves Haldir for the end, and the oil is good, but Maglor knows what is means to be used like this – yes, his family was never doing things by halves, why would they?

It's still damn arousing to watch him, greedily fucking every one of them, coming from it and taking some more, ruining his throat completely, his moans and cries so out of character with the frozen facade he usually projects. Now Maglor smirks to himself, wondering if the offer from tonight will ever be made again – because he hungers to posses him, to make him writhe and scream and curse as he finally goes limp, a perfect smile on the perfect face. And who cares it's an illusion? Don't they all see somebody else there?

*

And the hardest thing is not abstaining from the sex, but not being a part of the pile they make for sleeping – because of course they are too tired to move the mattresses back to each room and go there themselves.

“I will keep guard while you sleep”, he says, preparing to leave the room. “Just consider me the first on the new roster, Glorfindel”.

“You should stay”, the golden one says. 

“I will not set myself apart again, after today”, he answers. “Rest”.

Because he just won't be able to today; he really needs to say goodbye to his dear ghosts; it's the only way to really make it. And he never did, he admits it now, as he takes his harp and goes outside of the house, and then just a bit farther away. The others need their rest.

He sings the favorite song of each of his beloveds, and murmurs his undying love to each of them. He can't and won't stop loving them, that will not change; but he allows them their peace, and begs them to allow him his, until this is done and he has paid his dues, as the Valar had asked. 

And he does the truly unthinkable too, and sings his acceptance to the sky, promising them, wherever they are, to do what's needed so this plan of theirs succeeds. And surely his dear ghosts accepted his request, because none of them come to skewer him for it. And it hurts like his heart was just ripped from his chest, too much even for tears, because now he is really alone.

“Bring it on now”, he says. What else is there to say?


End file.
